Rogue Theatre’s Wild Woodland Summer Ball

‘Take your imagination for a dance’

Wild Wood

Wild Wood poster (from the Rogue website)

We’ve taken two grandchildren, accompanied by two of their Cornish friends and their grandparents, to Rogue Theatre’s ‘summer ball’ productions every summer for some four years now. They’re held in the beautiful Tehidy Woods, part of a 250-acre estate managed as a country park by Cornwall Council, near the cliffs on the north coast above Portreath.

IMG_4678From the carpark you’re greeted at a box office (it’s a real box) by members of the company in costume who send the audience in batches along a magical trail through the woods. Along the way the trees are festooned with strange web-like hangings, decorated mirrors, framed paintings, distressed books, and all kinds of other paraphernalia, from clocks to lampshades. It’s a place where you could encounter anything.

CakesAt intervals among the trees members of the cast sing and dance, or beckon the unwary into their world. Signs with enigmatic messages hint at the twilight zone into which you’re headed.

King of the Wild Wood

King of the Wild Wood

The path ends in a bosky grotto where you’re greeted by the wild, bearded, dreadlocked figure of the King of the Woods, whose long cloak, kohl-ringed eyes and curly horns lend him an other-worldly but regal, piratical air. He’s part ogre, part woodland spirit, but the twinkle in his eye, and his kind repartee with the transfixed children in our group, belie the scary aspect.

Every entrant into his grotto is challenged: Do you believe in the power of story? Do you want to pass through the door into his woodland kingdom? We each have our own story and are part of many more.

The basic premise is that we were leaving behind the everyday world Pathof mundane reality, and entering the Wild Wood. The company’s website sums it up like this:

Hundreds of eager feet, from this world and the other, animal, human and faerie (and half way between), patter along the path in time with the beat of the wings of butterflies and birds.

Even the breeze dances, as it makes its way through trees, carrying stories and shimmering magic to the heart of the woods.

This is musical theatre in a similar mode to that of the Kneehigh company, about whose recent production about the love-life of the artist Chagall I wrote here recently. Rogue have their own special brand of high-energy, open-air entertainment. It’s based on music, dance and acrobatics rather than dialogue – though the story-telling also makes powerful use of prose and verse. The co-founder’s training with Commedia dell’Arte and in the circus is apparent in the company’s visual, physical approach to story-telling that doesn’t just engage the audience: it challenges and enthralls them.

This year there were four separate fairytale-type stories of enchantment. Like all such tales, they’re a challenging blend of magic and carnival and the biggest human issues: love and loss, separation and reconciliation, transformation, and life’s rites of passage, ending in the most comprehensive: death. Our eight-year-old granddaughter was spellbound throughout. Her brother, our ten-year-old grandson, sustained a cool veneer, but he secretly loved it.

Moon

Moon

As always the King of the Wild Wood greeted us and introduced his co-narrator, the Moon, who was winched high into the trees on a silver trapeze-seat, from where she beamed smilingly down on the proceedings, and joined in with the tale-telling from time to time. The company began each section of the show with their now-familiar dance, and maddeningly catchy ‘Moon Song’ – a homage to her powers.

There was one tale about a pop-up curiosity shop, whose proprietor displayed a mysterious lack of zeal for selling any of her bizarre stock of pickled pets and alarming oddments. An even more enigmatic customer intrigues her.

Faeries

Can you spot the bearded fairy?

CatsThe stand-out item for me was the story involving a brilliant chorus of cool rapping cats. Second best was the troupe of white-clad, bewinged faeries, all glamorous, elegant girls, except for one with a bald pate and full gingery beard…He was having a whale of a time.

We all were.

There was face-painting and wand-making with the cast in the interval. I spotted several unashamed adults among the eager youngsters waiting their turn for the glitter and paint.

The small company has an astonishing capacity to play multiple roles, and all are multi-talented dancers, singers and actors. Minimal costume changes convincingly transform each player, and at times it’s hard to recall what part they played in the previous tale, so completely do they inhabit each character.

The musicians are equally talented and versatile. The music ranges from contemporary pop genres (I’ve mentioned the rapping felines) to folk and traditional, with occasional rocking anthems for which the Woodland King sits at the drum kit and beats seven bells out of it.

Wild WoodThis year the rain didn’t dampen the spirits of the cast or audience. We were seated on hay-bales under a protective awning; the actors, real troupers, performed fully exposed to the downpour. Their infectious energy and commitment were a credit to them, and we all had a great time.

It was with some reluctance that we retraced our steps through the woodland that was transformed into something magical by this brilliant Cornish-based company’s imagination. They tap into and release the inner child in all of us.

 

 

Cornish ramblings: Tremenheere, St Michael’s Mount and Way

Our Cornish ramblings continue, but work resumed this week, so they’ll probably subside now. We went on Monday to Tremenheere Sculpture Gardens, near Penzance.

The name derives from the Cornish tre-menhir, ‘standing (or long-)-stone farm (or place)’.  Another site near St Keverne on the Lizard peninsula on Cornwall’s south coast has an actual surviving menhir; I can find no record of such a stone at the site of the current gardens – though there are many of them across the moors of Penwith in west Cornwall.

Before 1290 the lands were owned by the monks of St Michael’s Mount, in the bay below. My guess is that the Tremenheere family, who owned the estate where the gardens now stand, originated from the Lizard area and moved north, and bought the land from the monks. In the 15C it was the monastery’s vineyard.

Tremenheere

Tremenheere

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tremenheere

Tremenheere

 

 

 

 

 

 

Minotaur

Minotaur by Tim Shaw

Black Mound

Black Mound by David Nash

The beautiful 20-acre site is planted with a wide range of mature trees, shrubs and flowers, with a network of winding paths connecting the sculptures by some noted figures, intended to blend with or comment on the landscape they stand in. The views at various points across the bay to the Mount are amazing – possibly the finest in Cornwall. For more on the origin and purpose of the gardens, see the website, which states that it’s intended as an ‘arcadian space blending the elements of landscape, planting and art to create a place for contemplation and wonder.’

 

Restless Temple

Restless Temple by Penny Saunders

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I hope my pictures convey something of this quality. Information on the sculptures is also to be found at the garden website.

St Michael's Way exhibition

Flyer for the exhibition

Forthcoming events:

Exhibition ‘On St Michael’s Way’

St Michael’s Way is a 12.5-mile trail starting at the church of St Uny in Lelant, nr St Ives, passing through the gardens and ending at St Michael’s Mount, Marazion, next to Penzance. Because of its historical significance as part of the network of pilgrim routes that lead to the cathedral shrine of St James at Santiago de Compostela, Spain, this is the only footpath in Britain designated part of the European Cultural Route.

More information on the official website.

It’s of very ancient, pre-Christian origins, but in the 5C became the preferred route for missionaries and pilgrims arriving by boat on the N. coast of Cornwall from Ireland (I wrote about St Piran, Cornwall’s unofficial patron saint, recently HERE) or Wales and heading for the holy site of the Mount.

A few decades ago the route was reinstated with the aid of Bredereth Sen Jago, the Cornish Pilgrims of St James, and other bodies.

Archangel Michael is popularly known as the ‘saint of high places’, hence the dedication of Christian sites on mounts and hilltops (like Mont-Saint-Michel in Normandy). Miracles were said to have taken place at St Michael’s Mount in the middle ages, reinforcing its reputation as a spiritually significant location, standing as it does at the intersection of various ancient ley lines.

According to a 5C legend St Michael appeared to fishermen (he’s their patron saint) at this Cornish site, warning them of danger. Local Celtic legends state that the mount itself was constructed by the giant Cormoran, who tyrannised and pillaged the locality, and was killed by a local Marazion lad named Jack – source of the Jack the Giant Killer fairytale.

This giant’s cousin was called Trencrom. In local legends they are said to have hurled rocks at each other across huge distances, thus accounting for the many outcrops and boulders across west Cornwall. Trencrom Hill, above the Hayle estuary, is the site of a Neolithic hill fort, and has many such boulders.

St Michael’s Mount (Karrek Loos yn Koos in Cornish, meaning ‘grey rock in woodland’) is connected to the mainland by a man-made causeway of granite setts, making the island accessible on foot at low tide. In prehistoric times it may have operated as a tin-exporting port. More useful information at its official website.

It was probably the site of a monastery from the 8C, and a popular pilgrim site in the medieval period. The original 12C monastic church buildings were rebuilt in the 14C.

In 1659 it came into the possession of the St Aubyn family, who still own it in joint patronage with the National Trust, through whom most of the site is open to the public. The author Edward St Aubyn is a cousin of Lord St Levan, descendant of the Mount’s St Aubyns.

The chapel of St Michael is a 15C construction on the mount, while the castle houses a fascinating array of historical artefacts.

 

 

Skyspace

Tewlwolow Kernow by James Turrell

Another forthcoming event at Tremenheere Gardens, 9 September: special Skyspace evening (Tewlwolow Kernow) – James Turrell’s ‘Skyspace’ installation, with its extraordinary egg-like interior, has an elliptical space in the roof which forms a natural frame for some gorgeous skyscapes. Subtle lighting will enhance these unpredictable natural ‘pictures’ as dusk falls.

Camborne

By way of contrast, here’s an engine house seen on the edge of Camborne on our way home

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PS: Local place names and church dedications reflect the activity of Irish and Welsh missionary saints in Cornwall from the 5C. Uny (or Euny) of Lelant, and Herygh or Erc (patron of St Erth village), were Irish brothers of St Ia (Cornish for ‘St Ives’ is Porth Ia) who all landed in the Hayle estuary. I posted recently about St Piran, whose legend relates how he floated miraculously across the sea from Ireland on a millstone (intended to drown him by irate local pagan kings); Ia is said to have crossed on an equally unconventional vessel: a leaf (or, in some versions, a millstone – probably indluenced by Piran’s legend – a typical hagiographical cross-fertilization).

PPS There’s a great spot at Marazion marshes, opposite the Mount, to see a huge range of birds (including the rare Cetti’s warbler), mammals and other fauna and flora: it’s a RSPB site – more HERE on their website.

 

 

From Devoran to Portreath: the Bissoe cycle trail and Mineral Tramway.

Devoran

Devoran quay, looking out towards Point; Feock and the Carrick Roads, then the English Channel beyond

Yesterday we took our bikes to the Bissoe Trail and did the coast-to-coast trip, from Devoran on the south coast (well, up Restronguet Creek a little, but that’s where the trail ends) via Bissoe to Portreath on the north coast – and back. 24 miles in total; not bad for oldies like us…

When the granite massif of nearby Carnmenellis was produced 300m years ago, the cooling rock left vapours and deposits that became rich veins of metals, principally tin (cassiterite) and copper (chalcopyrite), with some gold, arsenic (technically a ‘metalloid’, a by-product of tin and copper smelting in the later mining period) and other minerals. The Carnon Valley cuts at right angles across these veins, which explains how it became the base of some of the oldest mining activity in the western world.

Devoran

Devoran

The trail follows the route of the old Redruth and Chasewater (now spelt Chacewater) narrow-gauge mineral railway (or Tramway), which opened in 1825, and included several branches. Other lines later completed the route all the way to Portreath. When mining declined in the latter part of the 19C, so did the railway; it closed in 1915. Devoran ceased functioning as a commercial port at that point, and the tidal estuary had already silted up badly.

Devoran was, during the heyday of Cornwall’s mining industry in the 19C, a busy port. Mined minerals,

Devoran

Devoran

mostly tin and copper excavated in the nearby Gwennap area inland, were exported on the ships for smelting in S. Wales. Imports were largely coal to fuel the mines’ steam pumps and other materials to keep the mines operative. Its wooden wharf has largely disappeared, but there survive the remains of ore-storage bins, granite mooring-bollards and various former port buildings.

For a diagram map of the Gwennap mine sites, from ‘Fortune’ to ‘Busy’, ‘Maid’ to ‘Jane’ and ‘Unity’, and many others, with their quaint-sounding but deadly serious Cornish prefixes ‘Wheal,’ see HERE.

Bissoe trail

Bissoe trail passes beneath the viaduct

When tin streaming declined, coinciding with the fall in the price of tin, resourceful mining companies dug under the estuary to extract the remaining subterranean tin gravel. While the laden ships sailed above them, miners toiled 30-40 feet below.

The principal family behind Devoran’s industry was the Agar-Robartes, whose huge estate was at the sumptuous Lanhydrock House near Bodmin – now a National Trust property open to the public.

Carnon viaduct

Original Carnon Viaduct, with wooden supports on granite ‘stumps’ (Wikipedia image)

Halfway between Devoran and Bissoe stands a magnificent viaduct, carrying the line from Truro to Falmouth.  Brunel’s original stumps are still visible below the later, wooden Victorian arches.

It was started in the 1860s. The foundations had to be dug through over nine metres of mine waste material, aka ‘tailings’. These had built up over the

Carnon viaduct today

Carnon viaduct today

decades of expansion from streaming to later deep ‘hard-rock’ mining, and from the construction of the County Adit drainage system.

 

Bissoe is from the Cornish for birch trees. In the 1600s it was a small port at the head of the estuary. Tin streaming activity, using at that time a complex system of leats and sluices, produced so many ‘tailings’ that the valley silted up with this waste material, cutting the place off from the sea.

Nearby is the Point Mills Arsenic refinery. Some imposing building fragments remain, as my picture shows. It closed after 100 years of production in 1939. Arsenic was used principally as a pigment in dyes for the Lancashire textiles industry, and as an alloy with other metals. It was exported for use in sheep-dip, an insecticide and for glass-making.

Bissoe

Mining has scarred and transformed the area near Bissoe

The land itself in places remains scarred and pitted by mining activity, or piled high with waste heaps – now further scored by the tracks of mountain bikers. This wild, bleak moonscape is weirdly beautiful – a far cry from the ‘Cornish Riviera’ images about which I’ve written in recent posts. Yet this is as authentically ‘Cornwall’ as the more famous and picturesque Charlestown or Portloe.

This part of the trail has since 2000 formed the Bissoe Valley nature reserve, 7.5 acres of wetland, heath and post-industrial land. There’s

Old mine buildings nr Bissoe

Old mine buildings nr Bissoe

Old mine buildings nr Bissoeplenty of information, maps, photos, videos, etc. at this website.

It’s teeming with wildlife and flora: dragonflies, damsel flies, birds. No fish, though. The river Carnon is still so polluted by mineral contamination that its mud shines unnatural orange, and the water is eerily coloured as a consequence.

Our dog Bronte, when we were walking here some years ago, didn’t realise there was a river: it’s so overgrown that it looks like a ditch, fell in and was swept away. She was lucky, my wife and I were able to save her. Other dogs since have drowned.

Portreath beach

Portreath beach: my helmet on the wall as evidence we made it

Portreath derives from the Cornish for sandy cove. Tin streaming was recorded there as early as 1602. The mining port’s construction started in the 18C, and expanded considerably in the second half of the 19th. Its purpose was similar to that of its rival, Devoran.

The first ‘railroad’ in Cornwall was the Portreath Tramroad, originally with horse-drawn wagons (steam engines only arrived in the mid-19C), started in 1809, to link with the copper mines at Scorrier and Poldice, near St Day. By 1812 it stretched to Scorrier House, owned by the Williams family who later occupied Caerhays Castle, about which I wrote last time. This family, along with the Bassets (whose Tehidy estate is vast, and now a popular park), made a fortune as pioneers of the Cornish mining industry.

To the south is the site of the old cable-worked, steam-fuelled incline, which linked the harbour with the main rail line at Carn Brea, near Camborne, another busy mining zone until the 20C.

The link between the grand estates like Lanhydrock, Tehidy and Caerhays, the mines and industrial archaeology is constantly apparent when one travels through Cornwall. All along the cycle trail we saw old engine houses, chimneys and ruined buildings.

IMG_4578When we got home this handsome dragonfly was basking in the sun over our front door lintel. I tweeted it to Cornwall Wildlife Trust, who kindly identified it as a female Southern Hawker.

 

 

 

Cornish ramblings again: Portloe, Portholland, Caerhays

My latest posts have resulted from my end-of-holiday travels in this beautiful county of Cornwall as I strive to make the most of my fortunate location before work resumes soon.

Portloe clifftop

Portloe clifftop

On Sunday we went to the Roseland Peninsula, named according to one source after the Cornish for ‘heath’. Its bulk mirrors the landmass around Falmouth, across the Carrick Roads/Fal River estuary that forms its western boundary. Most of Cornwall’s coastline forms part of an AONB, of which the Roseland Heritage Coast forms part.

I recently wrote about my excitement at seeing a chough at Cape Cornwall; I didn’t see any on this trip, but there is apparently a pair that has successfully hatched three chicks in the area this year – the first time since the 1820s: link to the story HERE and for the RSPB Cornish Choughs project and further info see HERE.

PortloeWe started at Portloe, a tiny cove with pretty cottages clustered round its small natural harbour and clinging to the steep valley slopes around. Its name comes from the Cornish for cove pool: ‘porth logh’ (presumably Scots ‘loch’ is their Celtic equivalent). From the 17C it was a busy fishing port, but like most of the Cornish fishing industry (and mining, as I’ve written often before) it declined sharply in the 19C and early 20C. Now just a handful of small working boats survive.Portloe

Overlooking the slipway is the Lugger, a fashionable hotel/restaurant; the Ship is a more homely, less hip pub a few yards up the hill. Smugglers would have landed their contraband in tiny inlets like this, and the Lugger is said to have played its part in the past.

In fact the whole Cornish coastal path, which winds its way all round

Portloe

Looking east towards Dodman from above Portloe

the county peninsula, was originally made by the coastguards and revenue men who tried to intercept the smugglers. It’s a struggle much romanticised in fictional and film accounts; in reality it reflects the hardship endured by many of the people who lived (and still live) in this impoverished rural area, striking a harsh contrast with the privileged minority who owned and managed the mines and harbours.

Watchouse

View from the watchhouse on the coastal path above Portholland

The light in my pictures shows

Portholland

Looking west above Portholland: light changing

typical Cornish summer conditions. Dark, rain-threatening clouds blow rapidly over, pierced at times by bright, hot sunshine. It’s like several seasons passing in just a few minutes. Two miles away it can be raining while we bask under glorious blue skies.

Portholland

Lime kilns at Portholland

On to Portholland, with its tiny cluster of buildings, remnants mostly of lime kiln workings. Typical Cornish granite crags and cliffs loom around the tiny cove.

A few miles on we stopped at Porthluney beach, below the grey ramparts of Caerhays Castle. This curious building sits within a huge estate which passed to the Trevanion family in 1380. The gardens, which cover some 140 acres, were developed by the Williams family since the Victorian period, and are famous for their collections of magnolias, camellias, rhododendrons and daffodils.

The estate’s owners have long been associated with mining (and also smelting and banking); the castle displays the remains of what was once a much larger collection of minerals, collected over the generations from their local mining interests in places like nearby Gwennap, from their overseas mining interests, and from other collectors.

Caerhays Castle

Caerhays Castle

I don’t suppose the men and women who spent their working lives toiling above and below the ground – the hard rock Cornish miners I’ve written about recently – were much concerned with collecting samples of the rocks for the extraction of which they risked their lives and limbs. If they did they would doubtless have been arrested for theft.

With a new series about to air on the BBC based on Winston Graham’s Poldark novels, we’ll soon be invited to marvel at Cornwall’s breathtaking scenery and reinvented heritage.  It’s worth remembering that there’s far more to Cornwall in reality than the chocolate-box charm and the picturesqueness represented on GWR advertising posters and soft-focus historical fiction (‘The Camomile Lawn’ was filmed partly at Portloe). From the hills above Caerhays one can see the spoil heaps of the clay area of Hensbarrow Downs around St Austell, a landscape so scarred by the industry that sci-fi film crews (like those who made Dr Who) have used it for alien world locations.

Just inland from the nearest city, Truro, lies the Mining Heritage Trail, about which I’ll write soon. Crumbling engine houses and ruined industrial buildings dot these landscapes, a visual reminder of the long-gone industries on which the Cornish people once depended. The landscape itself there is pitted and scored, discoloured and ravaged by centuries of mine working.

Webster could see ‘the skull beneath the skin’. Cornwall’s metaphorical skull isn’t even concealed beneath the land: it protrudes everywhere – in the granite outcrops and the hollow engine houses, the thronged beaches and the congested summer arterial roads. It contains Du Maurier’s romanticised Jamaica Inn (and the garish tourist site that has become) and the man engine disaster at the Levant Mine in 1919 when 31 men were killed.

These post-industrial sites (more on them next time) are in many ways more authentically Cornish than the honeypot locations beloved of TV crews and audiences.

And then there are the choughs.

 

The magic fades: DH Lawrence’s response to Cornwall, pt 3

DH Lawrence’s response to Cornwall, continued: the idyll fades, disillusion and desertion sets in. Extracts from the Collected Letters, ed. Harry T. Moore, Heinemann, London, 1970, vol. 1

[To Barbara Low, from Higher Tregerthen, nr Zennor (all the following letters were written from there), 1 May 1916] It is very lovely here, with the gorse all gone yellow and the sea a misty, periwinkle blue, and the flowers coming out on the common. The sense of jeopardy spoils it all – the feeling that one may be flung out into the cess-pool of a world, the danger of being dragged into the foul conglomerate mess, the utter disgust and nausea one feels for humanity, people smelling like bugs, endless masses of them, and no relief: it is so difficult to bear.

[As my last set of extracts showed, the military and other state authorities had started to show an unsettling interest in this ménage of the Lawrences: Frieda striding around W. Cornwall in brightly coloured mismatched stockings, speaking English in her heavy German accent, their cottage curtains similarly mismatched. Locals suspected this suspiciously unconventional couple were signalling to the enemy submarines which patrolled the waters off the peninsula. Nevertheless, DHL’s outbursts in letters of this time are disquieting, Nietzschean in their contempt – even if it’s understandable he’s so upset.]

Ottoline Morrell

Lady Ottoline Morrell, society and literary hostess, by Baron Adolf de Meyer, platinum print, 1912. Wikimedia Commons

[To Ottoline Morrell, ?4 May 1916] The country is very beautiful, with tangles of blackthorn and solid mounds of gorse blossom, and bluebells beneath, and myriads of violets, and so many ferns unrolling finely and delicately. I have begun a new novel [this would become Women in Love]

[To OM, 24 May] The country is simply wonderful, blue, graceful little companies of bluebells everywhere on the moors, the gorse in flame, and on the cliffs and by the sea, a host of primroses, like settling butterflies, and sea-pinks like a hover of pink bees, near the water.

[To Catherine Carswell, 19 June] I have nearly done my new novel. It has come rushing out, and I feel very triumphant in it.
The Murrys have gone over to the south side, about thirty miles away. The north side was too rugged for them. And Murry and I are not really associates. How I deceive myself. I am a liar to myself, about people. I was angry when you ran over a a list of my ‘friends’ – whom you did not think much of. But it is true, they are not much, any of them.
I give up having intimate friends at all. It is a self-deception. [He goes on to invite the Carswells to stay in the Murrys’ vacated rooms next door!]
It is very fine here, foxgloves now everywhere between the rocks and ferns. There is some magic in the country. It gives me a strange satisfaction.

[Lack of money – L calls it ‘penuriousness’ – is still a problem, and he smarts at the sense of living off the charity of others – but at least he has been exempted from military service.]

[To Barbara Low, 8 July] I should have died if they had made me a soldier… It is the most terrible madness. And the worst of it all is, that it is a madness of righteousness. These Cornish are most, most unwarlike, soft, peaceable, ancient. No men could suffer more than they, at being conscripted…they believe in their duty to their fellow man. And what duty is this, which makes us forfeit everything, because Germany invaded Belgium? Is there nothing beyond my fellow man? If not, there is nothing beyond myself…because I am the fellow-man of all the world, my neighbour is but myself in a mirror. So we toil in a circle of pure egoism…I know that, for me, the war is wrong…To fight for possessions, goods, is what my soul will not do…All this war, this talk of nationality, to me is false. I feel no nationality, not fundamentally…one fights too hard already, for the real integrity of one’s being.

[L is forced to type up the MS of his new novel, and revisions of The Rainbow, himself; he has only £6 in the world, he writes on 12 July. Next day he writes to thank J.B. Pinker for the cheque for £50 he’d received from him.]

[To K. Mansfield, 16 July; she has returned to Mylor, nr Falmouth, on the ‘soft’ south coast. L is benign and adopts a cheerful tone, gossiping about visitors and repairs and improvements being made to the leaking, damp house she and Middleton Murry had so precipitously abandoned. L generously hides his disappointment at this perceived desertion.] The corn is very high, the hay is out…the Tremeada [nearby farm] corn full of the most beautiful corn-marigolds…The foxgloves are really wonderful…full like honeycombs, with purple wells.
[Then his tone shifts:] Really, one should find a place one can live in, and stay there. Geographical change doesn’t help one much. And people go from bad to worse. I think I shall be staring out from Higher Tregerthen when I am a nice old man of seventy.
[He doesn’t try to disguise the rebuke.]

Cornish Man Engine, pt 2: Hag yn Kernew, Den Bal Karrek Kernow

HAKA BALWEYTH (Cornish Mining Chant)

Kober! Arghans! Sten! Sten! Sten!

Yn pub karrek? Yn pub men!

Kober! Arghans! Sten! Sten! Sten!

An gwella sten? Yn Kernow!

[Audio version of this chant to encourage the Man Engine to rise: HERE – from Man Engine website, home page HERE]

Man Engine Truro

Man Engine stands in Truro’s Lemon Quay last week

I posted recently about the rousing progress through the county of Cornwall of the Man Engine, Britain’s biggest ever mechanical puppet. It was more than just a nostalgic entertainment: it was a poignant and salutary reminder of the difficult, dangerous, often fatal work undertaken by the Cornish miners, and of our mining heritage here in the county in the far SW of England.

This is the stirring anthem sung by the choirs and crowds as the Man Engine ‘transformed’ from his prone position to his imposing full height of over ten metres.

[NB the full story about the characters named in the song can be read at the Man Engine website HERE. Words highlighted in RED in the lyics are commented on afterwards, below]

 HARD ROCK CORNISH MINERS  (Hag yn Kernew DEN BAL KARREK KERNOW Antemna an Jynn Den)

Copper, silver, lead and tin

Can’t you feel em ‘neath yer skin?

One and all we’ve always been

  • hard rock Cornish miners. 

Kober, arghans, plomm ha sten

Yn-dann groghen kettep penn.

‘Onan Hag Oll’ kri pub den,

  • Tus val karrek Kernow.

Chorus:

Cousin Jacks both great and small

Raise your voice, sing One and All

Round this world we send our call

‘Health to the Cornish Miner!’

 

Deep and dark down Caradon Mine

William Crago’s aged just nine

8 hours work then 2 hours climb

  • hard rock Cornish miner.

Alfie Crowle he made his name

in Mexico’s first football game

Gave our pasties worldwide fame

  • hard rock Cornish miner.

Clung to life when three men died

Telfer Mitchell bikes with pride

One foot dancing one foot tied

  • hard rock Cornish miner.

Our Jane Harvey’s a Foundry maid

White Hart Hayle’s her cast-iron trade

Deals get done and money gets made

  • hard rock Cornish miner.

Londonchurchtown from Penzance

Humphry Davy leads the dance

Invented more than Safety Lamps

  • hard rock Cornish miner.

  • Copper, silver, lead and tin

    Can’t you feel em ‘neath yer skin?

    One and all we’ve always been

    • hard rock Cornish miners.

    ____________________________________________________________

Hard rock mining involves the excavation of metal mineral ores such as tin, copper and gold, unlike soft rock mining, such as for coal.

Cousin Jacks was the nickname for émigré Cornish miners from the USA to Australia, once the great diaspora began in the mid-19C, when the copper began to be mined out and the market for other minerals became too volatile for it to continue to be economically viable in many Cornish mines. More info at this BBC site (archived), and HERE.

Caradon Phoenix_mine

Phoenix Mine, from a 1908 postcard: Wikimedia Commons public domain image

South Caradon copper mine lies high on the granite dome of Caradon Hill up on Bodmin Moor. It closed in 1886. The song could refer to any one of the other mines in the vicinity; this whole area is still full of the remains of engine houses, chimney stacks, waste heaps, quarries and other mining industrial archaeology. For links to relevant websites and a short illustrative video visit HERE – Cornish Mining Heritage website, Caradon site

Cornish pasties, the pastry-cased pies crimped down one side to hold it together, were the miners’ traditional lunch or ‘croust’. Beef and potato were the staple filling, often mixed with onion and swede, although many other ingredients have been controversially substituted. Some mines had a hot oven up top in which the pasties could be kept warm until lunchtime. The owner’s name would often be inscribed in the pastry to facilitate identification. Some miners would reserve a small corner to leave for the ‘knockers’ – the mischievous ‘little people’ of the mines, believed to cause all kinds of mayhem and bad luck if not placated by these human intruders into their subterranean habitat. I believe the ‘empanadas’ of Argentina, Chile, etc., are S. American pasties based on the recipes the emigrant Cornish miners imported there when they took to working in the mines there after the diaspora.

Jane Harvey was the daughter of John Harvey from Hayle, in west Cornwall. In 1779 he established a foundry and engineering works there. He worked there with Richard Trevithick (1771-1833, born to a mine captain and miner’s daughter in a village near Camborne, inventor of many high-pressure steam-powered devices and locomotives, including improved versions of Newcomen and Watt’s earlier mine pumping engines) and other leading engineers. In 1797 Jane married Trevithick.

Harvey’s became the main mining engine foundry in the world, with an international market served through their own port at Foundry Town, Hayle.

Harvey’s of Hayle reached their peak in the early- to mid-19th century and then, along with the Cornish mining industry in general, suffered a gradual and slow decline.  The engineering works and foundry were closed in 1903, although the company continued to trade as a general and builder’s merchant, eventually merging with UBM to become Harvey-UBM in 1969 [adapted, including links, from Wikipedia]

The White Hart building, established in Foundry Square, Hayle in 1838, was built for Jane and Trevithick by her brother, who succeeded his father (died 1802) as the foundry’s owner. It still stands, an imposing sight, and functions as a hotel.

 

For a 12-min film of the singing as the Man Engine ‘transforms’ by Gray Lightfoot, see this YouTube site. A shorter one by Mel Potter from the Geevor Mine visit, see HERE